The Puppet Master
by Illulian
Summary: Everyone knows that Jenova is dead; a lump of cells that a rather batshit crazy Sephiroth manipulated from the Lifestream to corrupt all life on Gaia that is. Only this time, this time it's Cloud doing the manipulating. This time it's evolution by design. Time Travel. Jenova!Cloud. Drabble.
1. The Puppet Master

When the darkness finally took him, Cloud was beyond caring.

_He Failed_.

The life that circled the world was done for. Choked to death from the inside by a parasite he was the last to plague lifekind with. The Goddess had been impassive as ice. The whispers were always fearful. Even Aerith had avoided looking at him in time; her sadness too great. And so everyone of the living died.

_He Mourned_.

Why was it that Sephiroth himself could be absorbed by the planet multiple times, yet when it was his turn, the Lifestream writhed in pain and screamed in agony?

_Weakness_.

Why was he was repeatedly rejected? Why when he finally had no family or friends to answer to, was he left to rot on a dying planet alone?

_He IS Jenova_.

How? When? Why? None of it made any sense! He was winning, had been for a while. Wait... how long had it been? He could feel the power of a planet unclaimed for the taking so close to his grasp. All but for a sly slither, a small light so tiny; smelling of flowers and rain. She was fighting him again. His mind was clearer.

_He laughed_.

And as the darkness finally claimed him, Cloud's will of Odin wrought steel did not bend to the cells and memetic programming that now made up his essence and being. Cloud had failed at last.

_He smiled._


	2. Awake

When Cloud woke he felt at once both _lesser _and spread too thin. Almost as if he had lost most of his limbs and what was left of his _physical_ form was stretched across space and _time._

_Time travel?_

The concept was insanely hard to conceptualize, but it was getting easier. _His _mind was so much clearer now. Before it was all survive, consume, spread_._ But now he could _mind_ more. Things like _self_, _observe _and _learn._

_He _was in control. _He_ was the Puppet Master.

Make no mistake, Cloud was still a virus, but now he could adapt and change his own _biological _make up to suit his _thoughts_. So change he did. All he had to do was _try _and _remember._

But could he _feel?_

As the memories of _himself _slammed with full force into is conscious, Cloud was a bit perplexed about that bit. What exactly were feelings suppose to feel like again anyway? Hmmm... guess he'd figure that _confusionbreakproblem_ later.

Now it was time to _split _for spreading. Only this time his goal wasn't growth, it was _pruning_. He was sure add _stop_ while moving all his _lesser_ traits into his new clone.

He'd never done this before, and while certain that it would work and he would be _improved_ upon completion, he couldn't help the slight programming of objection and abort_._

No matter, the defects in his code couldn't hide from his mind's eye, and he could _change_ them, so without a second thought, he _split._


	3. Purpose

_Human WEAPON_.

Why hadn't the Planet thought of it sooner? Humans were so good at changing things; corrupting them. Their disability, a distinct lack of _connection_ had worried the Planet. They were an unknown variable. But now it seems they had found a _purpose._

The Planet was _pleased_.

Cloud hazarded a guess that when when he was made _defense_, the last thought of the Planet was to corrupt the corruption. Hah! He was to go back and _contain_. That's why Aerith had been so sad; he remembered now. He was meant to be a prison. Figures that by his very nature he would pervert that coding too. But this was far better than what the Planet had been expecting. The Planet still couldn't understand, it still did know how. _Corrupting_ by it's very nature was a counter-intuitive concept for it to grasp. But it didn't need too. He could absorb, control and _edit_ the infection. He was WEAPON; an extention; a _cureupgradeantibody? N_ow all he had to do was get to work.

Cloud opened his eyes.


	4. Reflections

The flash of light was searing and he scrunched his face in protest; a tiny hand come up to protect his eyes.

_A child._

He could tell he was alone; his surroundings void of people. The chill of Nibelheim frost was not being warded off by the warmth of dying embers, and he remembered how it use to seep through to his bones with a twisted malice. While his eyes adjusted in sensitivity, Cloud gathered his thoughts. He was young, very young... five? Hmmm, but then he always was small for his age. Very slowly he relaxed and coaxed his eyes open.

He was in Tifa's old home from childhood. Curiosity mixed with confusion, and Cloud pushed himself up from under the blankets and off the makeshift cot lying on the living room floor. He was naked, not that he cared; clothes didn't do much for him anymore.

A door shuttered open somewhere down a hall and slammed shut; the howling Nibel wind was moaning in fury outside. How long had it been since he had be here?

He was distracted from the litany of memories by the putrid stench of rotting corpses; a familiar decay, found only when preserving the dead though copious amounts of non-diluted concentrations of raw, unfiltered Mako._  
_

_But where?_

Despite the raging white flashes of the Nibelstorm, Cloud could tell it was dark for a Nibel night. No matter, his eyesight had adjusted. He caught a glimpse of the bright green-blue slitted glowing orbs that were his as he walked past the copper firescreen, and he could clearly see the blooded bandages that faintly glowed with residue; the makeshift tools for dressing wounds as he assessed the room.

What had happened here? It looked like he wasn't the only one to use this place as some last sort of refuge, although it certainly seemed that he was the last one to remain. He sighed.

_Left for dead._


	5. Observations

Cloud had walked the perimeter of the Mayor's house and only one set of heartbeats could be heard. His. The wind and snow limited visibility, but he follow his feet uphill on a path he knew by gut instinct, to the only place he'd ever called home.

It was getting brighter up ahead. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, the light was all wrong for it to be dawn. His bare feet stopped not thirty paces from where his home used to be.

_Ah._

He would recognize that pristine aquamarine glow from anywhere. And as the wind directed waves in a chaotic symphony, the smell of the planet's lifeblood hit him for less than a second before it was redirected elsewhere. So this was how the planet had reached him. He traced the Mako river up the path and hazarded a guess that it had made it's way down to the town from the reactor. It had stopped it's rampage when it reached Cloud's house of course, but everything on that side of town was gone.

A reactor meltdown could mean only one thing; the village had been abandoned.

Shin-Ra would be here soon.


End file.
